


Refuge in Your Heart

by Attorney C (arh581958)



Series: #MarveyWeek [11]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Day 7 - Free Day, Get Together, M/M, Masturbation, Mike can cook!, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oblivious!Mike, Slow Build, Snow Storm, UST, dense!Mike, major u-S-t, marveyweek, pining!Mike, pretty funny, seriously, sexy dreams, sexy!Harvey, slightly angst, stuck in the condo, you can cut it with a knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Attorney%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the snow storm hits Mike's apartment, he goes to the first safe place that he can think of--Harvey's condo. It's bound to be an awkward weekend when there's so much sexual tension in the room! </p><p>(Or: Where Mike fails to see what's right in front of him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refuge in Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ Marveyweek ](http://fuckyeahmarvey.tumblr.com/post/137395748176/marvey-appreciation-week-january-20th-26th-we) on tumblr! Day 7 - Free Day. Inspired by the massive 68cm of snow which fell over NYC over the weekend. I just had to write about it. I hope everyone over there is all right. 
> 
> Hello all~ I have awesome news! I have my PC back! OMG. I am so happy I could cry! For first order of business, please read the end notes. Meanwhile, I went overboard with the last day because I was over joyed. So... enjoy this!

“Come on, come on,” Mike’s thankful for Harvey’s stupidly expensive condo’s superb indoor heating. For once in his life, he’s not wringing his hands to fight off the cold while waiting for the door to open. It’s a blizzard out there and it’s freezing. The melted snow which clung to his jacket isn’t helping.

“Fucking Christ, Harvey!” he yells, banging on the wood three times in rapid succession, hard enough to make his numb hands bruise. Even the doorbell isn’t making an effect. Cursing, he grabs his phone from his messenger bag and dials his asshole boss’ number. “Answer your goddamn phone!”

He knew the bastard is home. The doorman told him so when he went in. He would have shouted and made a ruckus until the man stepped outside to yell at him back, if he didn’t need Harvey is a good mood for his plan to work. He shuffled his duffel back on his shoulder and listened to the phone ring.

“What?!” Harvey’s voice snaps at him as soon as the line connects. Mike grins because _score!_ “I cannot possibly think that this escapes you, rookie, but not only is it a weekend but it is also a _Sunday_ which means, rookie, that it’s my day _off_.” He growls the last word.

Mike tries not to wince at the tone. He’s had lots of practice. “The Preston briefs,” he stammers quickly, “I’ve got the Preston briefs for tomorrow’s court trial. I was thinking… You said to show some initiative so here I am with the Preston brief. I was thinking that you might want to go over them today. I checked with Donna and your schedule is packed tomorrow.”

“Rookie,” Harvey sounds positively livid on the other side of the line, “Maybe my schedule is like that because I _didn’t_ want to be disturbed on the weekend? And, I don’t know, maybe have a life? You should try it sometime.”

“Tried it but Trevor and Jenny are gone.” Mike mumbles under his breath before he realizes it. He regrets it as soon as it’s over. “I mean… that’s not… it’s really…”

Harvey is obviously annoyed. “I _don’t_ want to go over the Preston briefs on Saturday morning, Mike.” And he sounds just a bit off on the name like he barely stopped choking on it. “So unless Jessica Pearson herself send you here to haul my ass to the office. Consider me _not home_.”

“But you are!” Mike presses, getting more desperate by the second, “You are and I can hear you! You’ve watching a game on your big-ass flat screen, in front of the cozy living room fire, and probably with a warm ale to go with it considering the weather.”

Harvey sighs. “What is this really about, rookie? Haven’t you learned that it’s inappropriate to drop-in unannounced at your boss’ condo with a half-assed work excuse that wouldn’t even fly? I know you’re at my _goddamn_ door but what I want to know is _why_. You’ve got a ten seconds or I’m ending this call.”

“Blizzard!” Mike blurts out too quickly. “It’s the shit blizzard that came in last night. You know my apartment is for shit. We lost power and the heating gave out. We’re running on a generator only powers the essentials. Heating apparently isn’t an essential. And the radio says that it’s just the beginning. I’m gonna die in my shit apartment and you’ll lose your best associate.”

Harvey doesn’t answer but he keeps the line open. The shuffling noise if dampened by either space or Harvey’s hand covering the receiver but Mike knows he’s moving around the room, already deciding Mike’s fate for the weekend.

“Why don’t you call your little paralegal girlfriend?” It comes out nearly as a distasteful sneer and Mike swallows.

“We, uh, really didn’t… uh, work out…” he says with more self-pity that he needed right now. It’s bad enough that he’s half-frozen with melted snow clinging to the insides of his collar, begging his boss for a place to stay after everything that said boss has already done for him. There’s no longer room for any pride. “So uh, you gonna let me in?”

The doors clicks at the heel of the question which means that all that moving around in the background must have been Harvey going to the door. Mike can’t suppress the smile of relief when he sees Harvey, even if said man is looking at him like he shouldn’t be there—which, technically, he really shouldn’t. But he is, and Harvey let him in, and it makes him grin even wider.

“The one time,” Harvey grouses and, for the first time, Mike realizes that his voice sounds off—scratchy and raspy and _well-fucked_ , “the one time that I schedule a weekend off. A storm comes in and you come to ruin it all. If I didn’t need a _fucking associate_ , I would fire you right now and get you out of my hair.” He barks but his tone has Mike unconvinced. It doesn’t help that he’s sporting a pretty obvious hard-on and it’s spoiling the full effect.

“Ri—iiight,” Mike says, trying and failing to keep it from becoming awkward, as he side-steps into the condo and immediately is immensely thankful for the warmed living room heat, making his clothes further defrost. The warmth is heavenly and perfect. A hand stop him from moving any further, latching onto his arm.

“I have a _guest_ and you’re interrupting a planned weekend getaway. But the storm’s too thick to go anywhere so we’ve decided to stay here.” Harvey tells him, too professional and too proper for a man with a _thing_ that could hammer nails poking out of his pajama bottoms and a delicious sliver of skin peaking from his crumpled top. “Don’t break anything and clean up after yourself. Rosetta isn’t going to be in until this weather clears. Got it? Since you’re here, make yourself useful and make lunch _for three_.”

If the gravel-like voice and the tented PJs weren’t enough clues, Harvey’s last statements makes it crystal clear to Mike _that they weren’t alone_ in the condo, that Harvey had a _guest_ , that Harvey probably had been in his bedroom with said guest doing bedroom things when he called. Yet, Harvey got out of bed to open the door for _him_. Mike doesn’t know if he should be flattered or insulted for Harvey’s _friend_.

What did he expect? Harvey Specter, playboy extraordinaire, would have company over. It isn’t a long shot nor is it a surprise. Men like Harvey who liked power and money also liked sex and women. It is part of the whole _Men’s Guide to Machoness_ or something. All great men needed a seductive woman by their side to showcase their virility. It’s practically in all the books he’s read from Greek literature to modern media. Harvey is a classic example.

“Mike!” Harvey bellows, snapping his fingers in front of Mike’s face. With an annoyed growl, he shoves Mike’s jacket off, letting it fall in a soggy mess on the floor, and hauls the younger man into the common bathroom, turning on the hot shower. “Get your skinny ass warmed up. Lunch, got it?” He barks, closing the door without looking back.

On the way to the bathroom, Mike caught a glimpse of heels and a tulle skirt. He grabs his aching cock and jerks off under the hot water.

***

Mike manages lunch well. Despite the scene that he barely witnessed, he is determined enough not to starve while stowing away in his boss’ condo for the weekend. It helps a lot that Harvey’s pantry is routinely stocked with fresh produce and an arsenal of aromatic herbs.

Grammy taught him a lot of things while growing up and making a meal out of nothing is one of them. Now that he has an abundance of ingredients, he can make a feast. Especially since he needs something to distract him from the rhythmic pounding coming from Harvey’s bedroom. Thank god for small miracles that it is relatively sound-proof.

He makes rabbit stew with thick meaty Portobello mushrooms and a fresh green salad with homemade vinaigrette. He knows that he should be thankful for Harvey’s generosity. But, a childish part of him wants to get back at Harvey for suffering the enthusiastic bouts of sex since this morning.  He goes and takes an expensive looking bottle of red wine from the wine chamber.

The door to Harvey’s bedroom opens just as Mike shoves the bottle of wind in an ice bucket.

“Good,” Mike says, back still turned. He’s wearing his ‘best’ homes clothes, the shirt without holes, a pair of loose flannel bottoms that were starting to fray around the hems,  and Harvey’s black ‘kiss the chef’ apron. “I was just about to call for you.” For a second, he wishes he wore a button down instead because Harvey’s women, surely, would be as posh as Harvey, right? The heels didn’t look cheap.

Except—

—well, Mike gets the _posh_ part right but not the woman part.

The _man_ looks like he belong in a Taylor Swift music video or young Taylor herself because he was _pretty_ , the shade of prince charming gay pretty, with curly blond _tresses_ tried into a messy bun, sharp prominent features, and a thin pink lips. Not only that but he is also wearing Harvey’s t-shirt, the one he answered the door in, and a skimpy pair of boxer.

“Hello,” the strangers says with no Harvey in sight, “Harvey should be out in a few. Do you want to set the table together?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Mike replies, unsure. It’s surreal how the boy rummages through the kitchen with the same undermined confidence as Mike, going through the cupboards and drawers with efficiency, showcasing that he’s _been_ in this kitchen before—probably a few more times than Mike. It makes Mike feel off balance.

“I’m Francis, by the way,” the other man introduces himself, speaking to Mike over the kitchen counter while simultaneously fixing the dishes. Mike opens his mouth by the guy heads him off. “You must be Michael, don’t worry, Harvey’s told me about you. You’re his associate, right? Hot shot new lawyer that he recently hired for his firm?”

Mike wouldn’t call two years ‘recent’.

“Oh, Barbera!” Francis exclaims with a European sounding accent at the end. He eyes the bottle with something like glee, holding it up for inspection. “I’m impressed. Harvey didn’t tell me that you were a wine connoisseur! Less popular than merlot but from the smell of it, this will go perfectly will the meal you made. I’m so jealous that Harvey let you into his sacred wine collection!”

That makes Mike feel a little better, like some stupid boy who gets one over the most popular kid in school. It also makes him feel sick to the stomach because he has no _right_ to feel this way. “Yeah…” he eventually says with an uneasy chuckle while ladling the stew into a bowl. “Lucky me…”

Harvey coming padding out into the living room is both a blessing and a curse because it saves Mike from anymore awkward conversation but also gives him another problem all together—because Harvey’s naked from the waist up, naked rippling muscle and all, and that chest hair trailing down to his—no, Mike will not go there.

“Wow,” Harvey says, sniffing the air, with more surprise than necessary, “that smells wonderful.” He tells Mike, looking him straight in the eye.

“Yeah, well,” Mike tries to shrug it off, “It’s nothing. I like to flex my culinary muscles once in a while since the ingredients are free anyway.” He tries and fails to be nonchalant as his voice croaks mid-way through the sentence. “I added a bit of cayenne to give it a little kick and figured we could use it in this weather…” because outside was a literal blizzard.

He blushes when he realizes that all but him are flushed with rosy cheeks.

“Heh, not that you two seemed to need it.” He mutters under his breath which, thankfully, neither of them hear or bother to comment on. Instead, he brings out a bowl and shakes the bread in with one smooth motion, serving it on the table. “Let’s eat?”

Conversation over the table is stilled. It’s a bit stuffier than if Harvey had been in the condo alone. Alone, they could have pulled an old Star Trek film and watched a marathon over chicken wings and beer, or they could have begrudgingly gone through the case files for court tomorrow, or they could have just migrated into the living room with absolutely nothing to do, and it wouldn’t be this upright.

“You go on ahead, Mike.” Harvey tells him, order him to leave the room, just as they were finishing lunch. “We’ll take care of the clean-up.” It’s obviously a code for ‘get the hell out of here so we can do wild crazy bunny sex in the kitchen’ which is funny to Mike, seeing as they just ate rabbit.

But it’s not. The ‘we’ in that sentence removes any sort of joy from his boss doing menial labor. The hot stew, spice and all, and the wine did the trick. Mike is already feeling slightly woozy and overly warm.  It serves to amplify the loss of control over his own emotions.

“Yessir,” Mike hiccups, stumbling out of the dining area and into guest bedroom. But even all the wine in the world would not have stopped him from glancing inside Harvey’s room through the small crack in the door and seeing the skirt and other embarrassing things scattered on the floor. He’s beet red by the time he falls down, face first on the bed. He sleeps.

***

Mike wakes up with a rapt on the door. It’s dark outside the guest room window. Barely any of New York’s bright city lights can be seen through the thick snow fall and snow _fell_. Everything is white and pitch black. The room is warm and glowing slightly orange from the streak of light from underneath the door. He groans, feeling on the wrong side of pleasantly buzzed, his head throbs.

He can’t have fallen asleep that long, can he?

“We’re putting on a DVD. Are you coming out to watch with us or aren’t you,” Harvey calls out from the other side of the door, knocking again a few more times. “I don’t have all day.” He says which is unfair because he _does_ have all day. He has the whole freaking weekend! There’s no getting out of this condo which the storm still on-going like that. He shouldn’t say things like that. It stings.

In the end, Mike closes his eyes and forces himself to sleep again.

***

When Mike wakes up again, he’s not alone.

“Harvey?” his sleep-addled voice rasps, immediately identifying his new bedmate, “Harvey, what are you doing here?” He asks, tensing at the way hands snake underneath his thin shirt and trail across his ribs in reverence.

“What the hell?” he demands, pushing the other man away. What he sees makes him lose his breath—Harvey’s tousled hair, glazed eyes, and rosy cheeks. What he hears next makes his heart skip a beat.

“Mike,” Harvey call out, almost desperately, “Mike” he says again and there is no mistaking _whose_ name he is calling out. “Mike,” then he touches Mike, hands impossibly cold on Mike’s cheek, like he’s afraid that Mike will disappear if he so much as blinks.

“Harvey?” Mike voices out in confusion. He’s acutely aware that he’s trapped under the man’s whole weight bearing down on him and the _thing_ poking him in the stomach, so close to his own budding erection. “Harvey, what are you doing?”

“What I’ve always wanted, Mike.” Harvey whispers into his ear, murmuring sweet nothings as he kisses the side of Mike’s neck, and his hands feel like they’re everywhere touching, claiming, marking Mike as _his_.

“I’m doing what I’ve always wanted since the day you came into my interview room. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted… watching you each and every day, seeing you flirt with that paralegal, than your friend, then that HS schoolmate…” Harvey growls, latching onto Mike’s neck with his teeth and making Mike cry out in surprise.

“You like me?” Mike needs to ask because he needs to be sure. Instead of replying, Harvey grinds down, pressing his very stiff wood into the muscle of Mike’s stomach. Mike’s entire body seizes up on the contact feeling like dozens and dozens of small feathers are swishing over his skin. “Oh my god, you _fucking_ want me, don’t you Harvey?”

“Yes,” the answer is given with a sharp nip to his lower lip. “I want you so much but I can’t…” Harvey says quietly, almost like defeat. There’s something there, a vulnerability that Mike has never seen. So, he reaches up and cups Harvey’s face in his hands.

“Finish that sentence, Harvey.” He demands softly, “I want to hear what you have to say. You need to talk to me because I don’t understand. I’m smart but I don’t read people. I can’t read them like you do. I can’t read you. So you _have_ to tell me.” And he hates that he sounds like he’s begging.

“I can’t want you,” Harvey says, moving his arms up and down Mike’s side until the thin red shirt is bunched under Mike’s armpits. He flicks his thumbs over Mike’s nipples, making the blond release his head and clasp onto his shoulders. “I can’t want this.”

“W—w—why?” Mike forces out with his moan. His body is singing in pleasure with Harvey’s touches. So intense despite the tenderness of those fingers.

“Because I can’t have you,” Harvey replies, leaning down so that his hot breath is teasing Mike’s skin, edging closer to his nipples, “I can’t have this,” he mouths over the hard nub and starts sucking like a babe.

Mike’s never been particularly sensitive there but right not it feels like his cock is being sucked through his nipple and he cries out, breath coming out in pants. “Harvey, Harvey, oh god jesus, baby, sweet god,” he rambles incoherently because he can’t _think_ with Harvey sucking him like that. He can’t process anything. “Why?”

Harvey grinds down again, ass rubbing against Mike’s crotch, making the younger man arch. Mike can say no more words because Harvey’s movements are perfect. The hand and mouth on his nipples are making him leak messily on the back of Harvey’s pants. He wants, he needs, and he claws onto Harvey’s arms.

“Why can’t you?” He asks in a rare moment of lucidity when Harvey moves to the other nipples.

“Because you don’t like me back,” comes the reply.

And Mike, he wants to throw his head back and laugh because, surely, the hardness that Harvey is bearing down on should be evidence enough that he finds his bossy-and-mentor hot. When the words come crashing down on him like a bucket of water—he likes Harvey. He is freaking ass-over-tits _likes_ Harvey and he’s never realized it before now.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shitty. Shit. Shit.

Mike opens his eyes, sweaty, sticky, and sick—and alone. He sprints out of the bed and makes a beeline for the outside bathroom. But, it’s occupied. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. Making a decision, he swings the door to Harvey’s bedroom open, slamming the door too hard but he couldn’t care less. He falls to his knees on the marble and throws up.

“Mike?” Harvey’s voice comes a few moments later, sounding worried, “Mike, are you okay?”

Mike groans into his arms. He would be. He should be. Upheaving the contents of his stomach alleviated the earlier discomfort but made a new one known. He is still hard as a rock inside his sweats and it would be too obvious if he stands up. He only has his back to shield the inappropriate wood from Harvey’s face.

“Yeah,” he manages to choke out, not really wanting the object of his realization notice his other problem. “S—s—sorry about the invasion of privacy, Harvey.” He chokes out with a wince and a few more heaving coughs into the bowl, “the other bathroom was occupied. I’ll clean up and get out in a while. Give me… give me a few minutes.”

“Mike, what is wrong with you?” Harvey says, in an uncharacteristically and surprisingly tender voice that Mike’s heard being used on Donna, or Zoe, or Scottie, but never at _him_. So far, that tone and voice has only been used Harvey’s important _women_ , and not him. Or is he noticing it only now?

When he doesn’t answer, Harvey talks again. “Answer the question, rookie,” he demands, losing the earlier softness in his voice. “Answer me, Mike!”

Mike flinches when a hand suddenly lands on his shoulder, spinning him around. It’s disorienting and he uses the last of his strength to shove away so he can turn to the bowl again. There’s nothing but dry heaves and empty retches that echoes grossly in the small acoustic space.

“I’m fine, Harvey,” Mike grouses, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, refusing to turn around, “Go back outside and go your _Francois_ or whatever his name is. I’m _fine._ Leave me alone. I’ll clean this up and leave you guys alone.”

Harvey, bless him, leaves.

When the main door to the bedroom closes with a slam, Mike takes a crumpled shift in the hamper, recognizing it as a shirt from two days ago, and puts it to his face. He breathes it in and shakily jerks of to Harvey’s two-day old scent filling his nostrils. Then, he comes inside his shorts.

***

Mike rinses in Harvey’s shower, uses Harvey’s shampoo, and wraps Harvey’s robe around his body as he steps out of the bathroom. He hides his soiled clothes and Harvey’s old shirt under the robe and tiptoes back to the guest room. In the hall, he can hear the loud echoes of blasters missing their intended targets. He makes sure that _his_ door doesn’t make a sound.

He’s glad that he hasn’t unpacked. He rummages through the duffel back and picks out clean clothes—a Henley, an oversized sweater, a pair of thick jeans and his warmest pair of socks. He shoves the rest of the dirty laundry into laundry bag and into his bag.

He walks out and sees the pair sitting on the couch. It’s not like they were doing anything particularly dirty or anything. No, Harvey and his boy-toy were just _sitting_ on the couch, albeit sitting closely together. They were giggling over something and the boy pointed to the TV, laughing again, huddled closer together and looking sort of intimate.

It would have been fine a few hours ago. It would not have bothered Mike a few hours ago.

But, as it is, he recently realized that he _like-liked_ his involved boss.

The sight makes him sick again.

“Mike,” Harvey says, spotting him then eyeing the duffel bag on his shoulder, “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I am,” Mike replies with a shrug. When he came here early this morning, he had hoped for a nice weekend, a hot meal, and a place to sleep for the night while the worse of the storm rampaged outside. But he can’t now, not when seeing those two together makes his heart achy. “Thanks for your hospitality, Harvey. But you guys seem busy and I’ll just be in your way. I think I can still make it to Harold’s before the roads are covered in snow.”

“Harold who?” Harvey repeats, disbelieving. “You’re going out there,” he says pointing to the drastic nearly-horizontal fall of snow outside the window, “to go where?” Because, trust Harvey to suddenly _care about him_ when he needs Harvey to stay away.

“Harold _Gunderson,_ ” Mike stresses on the last name, “He’s still in Pearson-Hardman. The cherubic kid that I sit next to in the bull pen? Surely, you must remember him. He’s the guy the Louis likes to pick on.”

“Ahh,” Harvey says, remembering, “The one with the stutter?”

Mike rolls his eyes, “He only stutters because Louis keeps on intimidating him. He’s not a bad lawyer, his test scores are pretty amazing.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Harvey points out, eyes narrowing. He moves off the couch in favor of standing up, making him closer to Mike. “You’re going to stay with him?”

“Where does he even live?” the question stumps Mike.

“Queens!” He blurts out the first place outside of Manhattan that he can think of. “He shares a flat in queens with a couple of buddies. He told me I stay with him any time that it gets bad. I only just remembered. I should have gone straight to him instead of coming to bother you. I’ll just—I’ll—“

“In what?” Harvey’s outburst shocks Mike a few steps back. “You expect me to let you go in _that_? How did you even _get_ here in that weather?”

“I rode my bike,” Mike argues, weakly, “But I can take the subway.”

Harvey makes a face and Mike instantly knows that it was the wrong thing to say.

“The Mayor already issued a travel ban for the city of New York. BBC reports that by eleven tonight, Governor Cuomo will do the same for the rest of the affected states. Mike, there’s not running public transport and all the shops have been given the police order to close for the day.”

“What?”

“You did good, kid, coming here,” Harvey says, patting him on the shoulder, “You would have frozen to death in your shithole of an apartment. Now, put that bag back in the guest room. I paused Star Trek for you and I don’t just do that for anyone.”

True enough, when Mike glances behind Harvey, he sees the starship paused at mid-explosion. Butterflies flutter in his stomach.  “Thanks,” he grumbles and does what he was told. When he comes back to the room, the pair was back in their original places and he, unwilling to sit beside them, took the ottoman.

***

Harvey’s guest stands up after the movie to make dinner preparations. He waves Harvey off when the older man starts to follow.

“No,” the blond chides, “you have another guest, so you be a good man and entertain him too.” He leaves Mike and Harvey sitting awkwardly alone in the middle of the living room while the closing credits roll. Sounds come from the kitchen a few moments later.

“So…” Mike pipes up, not wanting to stay in silence forever, “He seems to know his way around the kitchen. I’m guessing; not a one night, then?”

Harvey raises his eyebrow trying to say _really?_ “You want to start with that?”

Mike shuffles in his seat and says nothing. He feels like _he’s_ the complete stranger in Harvey’s house, being in his outdoor clothes while the _couple_ was in their pajamas. He doubts they even had time to shower yet. And he hasn’t felt like this since his first time barging into Harvey’s condo after cracking their face case together.

Harvey is the first to fold. He grabs his nearly empty beers and down the rest of its contents in one gulp. Beer leaks through the seam of his lips and his adam’s apple bobs when he swallow. Mike gluttonously follows the motion with his eyes.

“No,” Harvey says once he’s finished, “Francis isn’t a one-night stand.”

“Oh,” Mike tries to hide his disappointment, “How long… how long are you two been together then?”

Harvey chokes on his own saliva. “We’re not…” he stammers, fighting through his coughing fit, “Francis and I aren’t together, Mike. We’re just uh…”

“Fuck buddies,” Mike supplies, boldly. “If you’re not together but your fuck enough times for it to be usual, then you’re fuck buddies, right? More than the casual random hook-up but less than a strong committed relationship. I know what that it.”

“I prefer the term friends with benefits,” Harvey amends, defeated. “That doesn’t bother you, right? Or does it bother you that Francis is a man?”

It’s so uncomfortably awkward that it’s funny.

“No, no!” Mike waves his hand defensively, “It’s not of my business who you’re fucking Harvey or that he likes to wear women’s apparel to bed while you fuck or an inordinate amount of lube and ghastly looking sex toys or you like restraining him on the bed…” he physically had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stop from going any further.

All of that he _saw_ when he got out of the bathroom.

None of it can he forget.

Too late.

It’s all burned into his eidetic memory now.

His imagination will provide the rest.

Harvey’s face becomes carefully closed off. A look that Mike’s only seen the lawyer use when they were in open court, getting hammered by the other side. It’s not a good sign. He backpedals an apology. “I mean… that’s really none of my business who you like to fuck or what crazy shit you guys like to do in the privacy of your bedroom. It was my fault when I looked, when I saw it, because I used your bath. I’m sorry, Harvey. I didn’t mean to…”

 “Jesus, Mike, shut up,” Harvey growls running a hand through his hair. “The mouth on you. It’s amazing how you didn’t get caught with that brief case in the first place. Now, shut _the hell_ up.”

“Okay,” Mike squeaks, miming his lips closed and throwing away the key.

“Listen,” Harvey starts by rubbing his hands together and planting his elbows on his knees, “What you saw in there,” he points to the bedroom with his lips, “stays here inside the condo. You will not breath, think, or even remember any of it anywhere outside of this condo. Or I swear that I will fire your ass quicker than you can say ‘no’, licensure be damned.”

In a flash, he’s in front of Mike, eyes blazing, hand clutching Mike’s shirt in a fist. “Cross me and I’ll sue you for all your worth and I will make sure that your skinny white ass gets sent to the deepest prison. Do you understand me, Mike?”

Mike’s never seen Harvey _this_ mad before. Not when he went to Jessica first, not when they had the thing with Trevor, not when he threated Harvey with going to the Bar Associate, and—it’s unbelievably hot. He sucks in a breath and pray that Harvey doesn’t notice the problem inside his jeans. Thank heaven that they are baggy jeans.

“Yes,” Mike breathes out, “Nothing outside of this apartment. I promise.”

Then, he flees back to the guest bedroom. He has his pants down to his thighs before the door’s lock engages, one hand fisted around his cock, while the other is stifling his moans.

This weekend will be the death of him.

***

Dinner is promptly at seven. The condo smells divine by the time Mike has enough courage to walk back out. He’s changed into another pair of sweats because his jeans were ruined by his impromptu jerk-off session by the door. He sports Harvey and his boy-toy in the kitchen, again, talking in hushed tones.

The boy seems to say something that makes Harvey’s brow furrow. Then, the man says something back and it’s the boy’s turn to huff. To Mike, it feels like he’s invaded something private, so he coughs to get their attention and shifts from feet to feet in the dining room.

“Hey,” he greets with a dorky wave, “Is dinner ready?”

It’s Harvey who snaps out of it first. “Dinner is just about ready. You can help set the dishes.” He says, bringing out the plates, cups, and silverware for Mike to arrange on the table. Then, he goes back to the kitchen, says something to Francis, and comes back out with another bottle of red wine. Mike suddenly feels less special than he did during lunch.

Dinner makes Mike shy about lunch. It is a _literal_ feast, or probably just an abundant quantity of food—lamb wellington made from scratch with _au jus_ sauce, grilled baby asparagus, gratineed scallops, and chocolate mousse for dessert. It’s enough to feed a small army. He feels nervous about eating so much while there _could_ be homeless people out there in the storm.

“This is dinner?” He asks in awe.

“Problem?” Francis asks back, sounding, for the first time, a little challenging.

“Not at all,” Mike replies looking at the bounty spread out before him, feeling guilty as his mouth waters. “This looks more than great. It looks fantastic.”

Harvey doesn’t look as impressed. “You’ve over done it again, Francis,” he chastise, “It’s a meal for three not thirty. How are we supposed to finish all of this? I’m going to be eating leftover again for the rest of the week.”

“But Harvey,” Francis pouts, “You know I love cooking for you. But you just never eat enough! I’m sure Michael will enjoy eating my food for the first time. He’s not spoilsport like you.” Turning to Mike, he serve a large lamb wellington and says, “Try this, Michael, it’s a favorite in my restaurant!”

“Thanks,” Mike mumbles, taking it, “and it’s Mike, not Michael. It sounds too… posh for me, thanks. Mike is fine.” He stumbles, feeling like an idiot. “You said you own a restaurant?”

“Yes, yes!” Francis claps his hands in excitement, “Why else would a French man like me stay in a miserable city like New York? Too many buildings. Too many people. You don’t get to stay and smell the flowers because there’s too much smoke in the city air! I was just visiting the one I own here.”

“Oh,” Mike says, curious now, “So how long do you normally stay in the big apple?”

“It’s normally for a day or two. It isn’t often. I have an executive chef who handles the day-to-day management of the kitchen, trained under me in France. But when I do have the chance to visit, Harvey here, is always gracious enough to host me for the duration of my stay. I never need to book a hotel!” Frances tells Mike with glee, unaware of the blond man’s discomfort.

The rest of dinner continues in a similar fashion. Mike keeps on asking Francis question to fuel the conversation. He learns that they met during one of Harvey’s business meetings overseas, hooked-up, and have had a mutually beneficial arrangement ever since. From the stories, Francis does not seem to be particularly invested in Harvey any more than a casual fling.

After dinner, Francis pulls Mike to the side. “Can you do the dishes for us, please?” He asks Mike with an overly friendly tone given that they’ve only had a full-conversation during dinner. He turns to look over his shoulder and sees Harvey already cleaning up. “Harvey’s been _tense_ since this afternoon and I want to loosen him up a bit. Can you do that, for us, please, Mike?”

 _For us_ , echoes bitterly in Mike’s ears but he agrees nonetheless. “Sure,” he answers with a shrug, earning himself a two-armed hug from the strange man.

The pair disappear into the bedroom moments later.

Mike finishes the clean-up, puts away the left overs, and starts the automatic dishwasher. Then, he goes to the living room and turns the flat screen on at full volume. He watches really, terribly, horrendously bad reality TV but even that can’t stop his head from straying to the activities happening in the bedroom. He bites his lip and forces himself to stick it out because it will look far too obvious if he went back to his room now.

When they re-emerge, Harvey looks like he’s lost the stick-up his ass and also part of his spine has gone missing. He walks without the usual rigidity in the office and looks somewhat _homey_ in his faded Harvard t-shirt and loose pair of sleep pants. Francis trots behind him with a goofy smile. Both of them smell like they’ve just gotten out of the shower.

Harvey puts on an old western film in black and white. Mike loses track of the plot early on. He’s just too distracted by the couple sitting on the couch. Again, they weren’t doing overly flirty or awkward or daring. But Mike _sees_ their thighs pressed close together, the way Francis leans on Harvey’s shoulder, the casual brush on Harvey’s thigh when the man gets them beers.

It has Mike feeling all the sickly feelings that he has no right to feel.

Not for his boss.

Not for Harvey.

Because, he wants, so badly, to take Francis’ place.

“I’m, uh,” he suddenly feels stupid for standing up with no reason, “I’m going to bed. Early. Now. I’m going to bed now.”

“It’s ten o’clock.” Harvey points out, clearly reading through Mike’s lie, “You can stay awake until morning when we’re working on a case.”

“Yeah?” Mike grumbles petulantly, feeling embarrassed, “Well, like you said, Harvey, we aren’t working a case now. So, it’s best to get as much sleep as I can while we aren’t busy. I want to get back all the hours that I’ve lost.”

“Sleep really doesn’t work like that, you know.” Harvey sounds almost teasing now.

“Just tell me how that ends tomorrow. I’m going to bed.” Mike orders, turning away. He can’t bear to look at them anymore. He leaves the room as fast as his legs can carry him and goes to bed.

***

That night, Mike undoubtedly dreams of Harvey. He dreams of skirts, and heels, and neckties, and leather. He dreams of being debauched in the dirtiest way ever—bound, gagged, chastity-tied, legs spread, and a dildo shoved into his ass while Harvey _watches_ him squirm from across the room. He’s crying by the time he succumbs and _begs_ Harvey to let him come.

He wakes up sticky and a shamed with no clue how to face Harvey in the morning.

Shit.

***

Morning arrives bringing new hope. The sky is clear and the sun is shining sunlight into the window. It’s pleasantly warm to Mike’s face but hurtful to his eyes. He blinks away the red-spots of sunlight from his vision before trying to get out of bed. He chucks his soiled boxers and pulls on his sleep pants. Something already smells good coming from the outside.

He pads into the hallway, bare feet, to see a very domestic Harvey flipping pancakes with just the pan. It really should be illegal to be stupidly perfect like that.

“Good morning,” He mumbles the greeting, sliding onto a stool and going for a cup of coffee. It’s Harvey who pours him one, creamed and sugared to his taste. It takes him a ridiculous amount of time to realize that Harvey _knows_ how he likes his coffee. For now, he mumbles another “Thanks.”

Francis strides out of the bedroom looking nothing like yesterday’s Francis. His hair is oiled back. His suite is snow white, with a striped long-sleeved shirt underneath, and a red scarf covering his neck. He looks stereotypically French and young and successful in his outfit. Mike feels a little jealous about the natural confidents surrounding the French man.

“I’d best be off,” Francis says, kissing Harvey casually on the cheek and giving Mike a knowing look which the latter doesn’t understand, “au revior, Harvey, call me whenever you’re in Paris. I’ll give you the best table in my restaurant.” He turns and gives pats Mike on the shoulder, “The same goes for you, Mike. Anytime that you’re in Paris. Ring me.”

“I thought there was a travel ban?” Mike asks dumbly. The pair share knowing looks.

“The ban lifted at seven am this morning.” Francis tells him, “and I’ve got a nine o’clock flight! I need to go now or my assistant will kill me for rebooking _again_. Best of luck to both of you. I hope you talk it out!”

Then, he is gone like he never was in the condo in the first place. All that’s left of him are the leftovers frozen inside the fridge.

“That was…” Mike begins, feeling uncertain, “him leaving, I mean. That was my fault, wasn’t it? I know I don’t read people as well as you do, Harvey, but I’m not stupid either. I can tell when someone is lying straight to my face. He _didn’t_ have a flight at nine. I doubt that he has a flight at all! He left because of me.”

“Astounding powers of deduction, Sherlock.” Harvey snorts, unperturbed by the change in plans, as he coolly flips another round of pancakes. “Francis leaves when he wants to leave. It’s none of my business to stop him from wherever he wants to do.”

“But it looked like he was meant to stay at least the rest of the day. It’s Sunday! There’s more than twenty more hours before the weekend is over.” Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I could have gone, you know, instead of him. Looks like it’s not snowing that bad. I could have gone back to my apartment.”

“And freeze to death?” Harvey snaps again. For what reason, Mike doesn’t know. Pancakes are piled in a stack of more than six and shoved in Mike’s face. “Stay there. Eat.” Harvey orders calmly. Then, he stands behind the counter, burner off, both hands planted on the marble. “You look like you have to say something. So talk.”

“Why him?” comes out of Mike’s mouth before he can stop it.

Harvey freezes. His whole body goes visibly rigid and his knuckles go white on the counter. He looks positively murderous. Worse than the time that he yelled at Louis in Jessica’s office, or the time he yelled at Mike for trying to save Trevor alone, as the time with Tess. He lets out a heavy groan, jaws clenched and teeth grinding.

“You mean you didn’t notice?” He asks slowly, eyes accessing, staring at Mike to catch and hint of a lie.

“Notice what?” Mike questions back because, clearly, there is something that he isn’t getting.

Once more the man goes quiet. This time, he lowers his gaze, hiding underneath his fringe.  It bugs the hell out of Mike.

“What didn’t I notice, Harvey?” Mike demands, fork slamming against the granite. “Because clearly it affects you enough to mention it. You told me to trust you. I do. But how can I continue trusting you when you don’t trust me back? Harvey…” he sighs in frustration, “just tell me what the hell I missed.”

“You,” Harvey answers in a quiet voice, “He looks like a feminized version of _you_. Didn’t you notice? Because he did—the moment you met.  He told me while we were cleaning up lunch yesterday and haven’t stopped pestering me about it since. I can’t believe he spotted it faster than you. You’re normally quicker on the uptake than that…”

Then Harvey sighs the digs his fingers into his hair _again_. “Look, kid, I understand that this might come as a surprise and if it bother you—“

Mike cuts him off there, “How long?” he questions, deadly serious, looking Harvey in the eye, “How long have you… thought about me that way?” Because he needs to know. It feels too much like his dream yesterday. He thinks, he’s scared to thick, that this is a dream to and that he’ll wake up sweaty, sticky, and sick again.

“Since you mentioned Sarbanes-Oxley.” Harvey confesses with a wry smile. “Pitiful, right?”

Mike narrows his eyes. “But Scottie, and Zoe, and not to mention all those other women _and men_ that you flaunted in front of me, you… you, asshole! I can’t believe that you’ve wanted to get in my pants that long!” He says, affronted. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, Harvey Specter, or I walk away from all this right now. There’s no going back from this. There’s no way I can go back to… to not _knowing_ about this.”

“No, it’s true.” Harvey confirms, “I’ve wanted to, as you say, get in your pants since Sarbanes-Oxley back in Chilton. But afterwards, after I… it doesn’t matter. What matters is that everyone you said, every single person was me trying to get over you. _Because I couldn’t have you_ and because you—”

Now, it sounds an awful lot like Mike’s dream, point per point.

“Because you don’t think I want you back,” Mike finishes, stumping Harvey’s mouth shut. “Are you _fucking_ blind? How can I _not_ want you?” He thinks he’s one. He has a grin on in face, confident that this is the part, like in the movies, where Harvey leans in with his eyes wide and kisses him on the lips, across the countertop with his arms flexing like glorious columns of Adonis.

But, Harvey shakes his head. “That’s not the problem,” he tells Mike. “You would be blind and stupid _not_ to want me.” He says bitterly.

Mike doesn’t understand. “Then what the hell is the problem? We both want each other! There’s nothing wrong with that. Okay, you’re my boss but we’re harboring a secret that can land us both in jail, not to mention put the entire Pearson-Hardman into peril. I don’t see how us fucking can be any worse than the secret we already have!”

“It is, Mike,” Harvey explains, “Because you don’t want me the same way that I want you.”

And Mike’s self-preservation snaps into two, he clambers onto the counter, letting the stack of half-eaten pancakes slide across the marble, knees planted on the countertop, and nearly topples Harvey when he crashes their mouths together. The kiss is messy, uncoordinated, and _desperate_. He doesn’t know whose desperation he can feel in the kiss, his or Harvey’s, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

“You’re the idiot, Harvey,” He says when they part, keeping his hands right on Harvey’s jaw. He looks down at the man whom he normally looks up to. He can _see_ everything with the light shining in Harvey’s warm brown eyes.

“You must be the biggest idiot in the world. Rejecting me because I said _want_ instead of _like_. Are you secretly twelve? I want you. I like you. Dates. Movies. Dinners. Baseball games. Everything. I want to be with you _because_ I like you so much. Even when you’re sometimes and asshole and work me until I’m dead. Even if you paraded all your conquest in front of my face for _years_.”

Mike takes a breath and kisses Harvey again. “And now that I know you want me back. You’ll have to _scrape me off_ to get rid of me.”

Harvey grins and kisses him back.

***

“Why did I agree to this again?” Mike asks, sitting on the couch, naked save for his skinny tie. There’s a pair of impossibly high, and extremely rare, Christian Louboutin, golden ballet heels, which he inconceivable to even _try_ to talk walk. It leaves him stranded on the couch, unable to get away.

His wrist are bound high on his back, making his chest curve out, while his legs are held open with ties attached to his elbows. A large towel covers most of the couch’s surface area. To add to his embarrassment, Harvey’s kneeling between his legs, casually spreading lube on his entrance with a triumphant grin.

“Because we made a bet and you lost,” Harvey replies nonchalantly, working Mike’s hole open in merriment, “And that means, I get to enjoy you while we enjoy the game tonight. What was the deal again? Oh, right. I turn the vibrator on for every foul ball.”

Mike moans, not because of Harvey’s threat but because Harvey slides two fingers in and start to _scissor_ his ass open. “Harvey,” he pleads, muscles trembling with the effort to keep still, “Why don’t you just fuck me? I can sit on your lap, ride you, reverse cowboy while we watch the game together. Just, _please_ …” another moan cuts him off.

Harvey pinches the head of Mike’s cock. There’s no cock ring or chastity device tonight. He wants to milk Mike’s cock until his lover too exhausted to move. Then, after, he’ll bath Mike in a bath of oil, flowers, and bubbles, and clean him both on the inside and out. Then, after the long bath, when Mike’s all gooey and loose, he’ll fuck Mike on the bed and cum inside him.

But all that, if for another time.

“Ready?” Harvey asks with a devilish grin. He inches the dildo, smaller than what they normally use, into Mike’s ass. He watches in fascination as the furl of muscles opens, and stretches, and _takes the toy in_. He leans up and kisses Mike soundly on the lips. “Thank you for this, Mike.”

“You’re an asshole,” Mike says, hitching as the toy pops in. He exhales as it settles inside of him. An experimental wiggle lodges it firmly and he nearly comes then and there. He starves off the orgasm because he want to enjoy this as much as Harvey enjoys doing this to him. He’s glad for his crappy apartment, their shit generator, and the stupid blizzard, because he almost did not have _this_.

“Next time, I’m tying you up.” He says with finality as Harvey climbs behind him, knees on either side of his, so he can lean back into Harvey’s chest. He snuggles into Harvey’s warmth and is thankful for the blanket that his lover drapes over them. He can’t wait for the game to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> First order of business, I need a beta. I wrote all my #MarveyWeek prompt-fics (except this one) on my phone and I need a beta to please, please, please help me read through it. I know there's so much spelling mistakes and grammar mistakes. I can't go over them myself. I have to catch up on the nearly three-weeks worth of work that I need to do. *cries* So please help me so I can finish it all and continue writing awesome Marvey. (I will love you forever!) 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr


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